Port Sonoma

“Get in Handy,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late. The hockey game went to overtime. When Curry scored the winning goal for the Sharks, the Bruins started another fight. I had to stay and see won the fight.”
“I don’t know how Sherry puts up with you. Let’s go,” I said. “I don’t want Francis to jump on my back. You know what a hard-ass he is about punctuality.” Mitch grunted in agreement.
“Sherry likes hockey as much as I do.” He added. “Let’s load your bike in the back.”
My name is Handleman Chandler. My mother’s maiden name was Handleman and she had no siblings, so over my father’s objections, I was named Handleman instead of Ray, Jr. When I was a kid and my friends called me Handy, I didn’t object.
Mitch and I had both served under Roman Francis when he was a sergeant in the Sonoma County Sheriff’s office. We had been buddies since we played football together at Port Sonoma High School.
After graduation, Mitch Leonard, at six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty pounds, got a football scholarship to Fresno State to play defensive end. I went into the Army. Mitch failed his sophomore year and lost his scholarship.
He came back home and went to Port Sonoma Junior College. He played linebacker and defensive end on the football team while he studied Administration of Justice. He tried out as a walk-on for the Forty-niners and the Raiders, but he was just too slow for the pros.